


When I'm lost at sea I hear your voice

by NotHereNJ (efficaceous)



Category: Black Mirror (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: A whole new world, AU, Alternate Universe - Black Mirror Episode: s03e04 San Junipero, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Character Death, Future AU, Happy Ending, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Show-compliant slurs, Slightly OOC due to the nature of the source material., Soft Mickey Milkovich, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 13,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23847253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efficaceous/pseuds/NotHereNJ
Summary: San Junipero + Gallavich.If you have not seen San Junipero, that's cool. This story should still make sense. I hope. Just suspend your disbelief until bits get revealed. It's a happy ending.Read this first, then go watch.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 24
Kudos: 28





	1. 1. 1987

It was a warm night and Mickey could hear the waves hitting the beach if he looked to his left. To his right, the glow of neon lights and rise of buildings. He pulled his windbreaker tighter around him and wandered into the town. Cars passed him by, music flowing out of their open windows like a breeze, laughter mixed in. As he neared an electronics store, he saw a MaX Headroom stuttering on the screen, making him shake his head in recollection. 

Across the street, he heard two men arguing. He turned to look, and saw a tall, tan, Ken-doll type pleading with a lanky red-headed man to slow down, wait for him.

“Come one, Ian, please? We only got a couple of hours, you know, so let’s use it…”

“I just want to have fun, Wes. Fuck off, will ya?”

The red-head - _Ian_?- strode away from California-Ken, or Wes, Mickey guessed. The Ken doll didn’t catch Mickey’s eye, but the other man: he wore a denim jacket with the collar popped and his hair slicked. His step was purposeful, and there wasn’t even a hint of pity on his face as he walked through the doors of a bar Ian hadn’t noticed. 

The lambent sign glowed through a light mist; the bar was called The Alibi, and more music could be heard within. Wes quickly followed Ian in. Mickey brought his hand to his mouth, rubbing a thumb across his lip. He wasn’t sure if The Alibi would be safe, but he wanted to see more of the man in the denim, of Ian. Without further internal debate, Mickey stepped off the curb and hurried across to the bar.

Inside, the music was almost oppressively loud in Mickey’s ears. He barely caught the refrain, something French and pop-ish. If the music wasn’t enough, the dance floor and bar area were all packed hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder with young people. Off to one side, however, was a small arcade area that drew Mickey in like an old friend. He pushed and apologized his way through the crowd until he stood in front of a game he knew, _Bubble Bobble_. Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and smiled when he found a handful of coins, dropped one in the slot, and the game began. Mickey moved with practiced skill, only focused on quickly squirting bubbles and catching dragons as the score rolled ever higher.

Back at the bar, a woman in thigh high boots and a fluorescent mini skirt watched Mickey play, sipping a tall drink from a long straw before awkwardly moving her head to the music. She focused on Mickey manipulating the game controls for a few more minutes, trying to be subtle, then made her move. She crossed the crowded dance floor, holding her drink above her head, before trying to get the courage to start a conversation with the dark-haired man who seemed immersed in the world of the game. 

“You’re good at this,” she tried to say seductively. Mickey frowned but didn’t glance at her, keeping his attention on the screen.

“Thanks, I’ve played before.”

The woman seemed unsure how to continue, but dredged up a game fact, trying to impress him. 

“It’s got two different endings, depending on how many players there are.”

“Uh-huh?” Mickey’s attention still wasn’t on her, but on a rather hard boss level, which he was obviously losing.

“Damn!” Mickey smacked the control panel when the losing credits began to roll down the screen.

Quickly, the woman touched his arm, turning his body to a two-player racing game. She reached into her bag and pulled out a coin.

“Do you want to…” She tilted her head and indicated the racing game with her free hand.

Mickey watched the screen for a moment as two cars drove full speed into a pixelated house, bursting into cartoon flames. His breath caught in his throat.

“No, thanks. It’s… sorry, it’s not you. I’m just fucking… Just learning my way around here.”

The woman read Mickey’s finger tattoos ( **FUCK U-UP** ) and nodded, stepping back with a still flirty smile. 

“See you next time, tough guy.”

Mickey wandered off; the woman watched him go, then dropped a coin into _Bubble Bobble_ , and started a new game.


	2. SN 1987A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mickey, like the mouse?"  
> SN 1987A was a supernova in 1987 that was at least partially visible to the naked eye.

Mickey found a booth that seemed deserted- empty glasses littered the table but there were no personal belongings so he sat down to watch the room as he took a few pulls of the beer in his hand. He saw the Ken Doll from earlier, Wes, stalk past, clearly still looking for the alien-looking redhead. 

Speaking of whom… Mickey caught sight of Ian sailing confidently in his direction through the crowd. The tall man noticed Wes, and made a face of irritation, changing direction and sliding into the booth with Mickey, whose eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline in surprise.

“Go along with whatever I say,” Ian whispered.

“The fuck?” Mickey was lost, and he was worried this guy was making fun of him.

“Whatever I say, just go along with it. Please.” With the ‘please’ Ian turned his gaze fully on Mickey, with puppy-dog eyes that were so green and bright, Mickey felt his face soften, and his head nod without conscious volition as Wes appeared in front of them, hands on hips, expression somewhere between pleading and pissed. 

“Do I need to red light you, Wes?” Ian confronted the man directly, confidently, but Mickey remembered the request of moments before.

Wes didn’t reply, just slid into the booth next to Mickey, who tried to slide away from the Ken-Doll, but only ended up pressed against Ian’s warm body. 

“Last week, Ian, that was so hot-”

“Last week was last week, Wes. Need to talk to my friend here, haven’t seen him in a while.” Ian was smiling as he said it, but it wasn’t a comforting or friendly smile. Too tight around the eyes, too many teeth showing. 

‘ _ He has to be a fuckin’ idiot to think Ian has any further use for him _ ,’ Mickey thought to himself. ‘ _ This kid is about a minute from throwing a punch _ .’

Then he stopped breathing.

Ian had thrown an arm around his shoulders, denim rubbing against the windbreaker, fingers closing around Mickey’s bicep, squeezing lightly.

“Wes, he’s sick” Ian hissed. “Like six months to live, sick.”

Mickey played along. “Five, actually.” He nodded, keeping a straight face.

Ian turned to him, questioning with his eyes, amused and impressed. Mickey gave him the smallest of softening around the eyes, the hint of a smile. 

Wes threw up his hands, and grabbed his drink, leaving.

Ian pulled his arm back, and Mickey immediately felt a chill as he took a deep breath.

“Sorry about him.”

“It’s cool.”

Both men sighed, not awkwardly, but enjoying the space without Wes’s intrusion, eyeing each other a bit.

“Sorry for killing you. The whole six months to live thing. Sorry -- five. Five was a nice touch.” Ian held out his hand, with a real smile, “I’m Ian.”

“Mickey.”

“Like the mouse? The Disney-”

“- yep, just like that.” Mickey motioned up and down at himself, and Ian laughed.

“He’s not a bad guy, I feel kinda bad. Met him at the Fairy Tale, so…”

“The fucks a Fairy Tale?” Mickey used air quotes around the name, making it clear he wasn’t asking for an explanation of The Brothers Grimm.

Ian looked at him, studying his face. He realized Mickey looked fresh, raw, new.

“If you don’t already know what the Fairy Tale is, you probably don’t want to know.” He looked at Mickey’s empty bottle. “You want another?”

“Yeah, I don’t-”

“Nah, you definitely need another one. Come on.”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand, interlaced their fingers and pulled him out of the booth. A small smile bloomed on Mickey’s face, but Ian was looking across the gyrating dance floor towards the bar. 


	3. 3. If they move too quick, they're falling down like a domino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinks and a conversation.

At the bar, Ian perched on a stool, making it look graceful. Mickey just... sat. Some 80’s girl group anthem blared around them, as Ian called out to the barman, “Hey. Blondie?”

Mock-offended, the barman pointed to himself. “I'm ‘blondie’?”

“You are. Jack and Coke, times two.” Ian held up two fingers in emphasis.

Mickey started to protest, “Oh no. Mine was just Coke.”

Ian ignored that and repeated his order to the barman, then turned to Mickey, and looked at him slightly strangely. 

“The fuck you staring at, Red?” Mickey squirmed.

“I'm ‘regarding’ you.”

“Feel like I'm being... inspected.”

“Shhh.” Ian had reached a conclusion. “Why the [glasses](https://66.media.tumblr.com/26cf05c40be6bedd230629df83253ef6/tumblr_nh04tfEFEp1scx9bko4_250.png)?” 

Self-consciously, Mickey touched the [glasses](https://66.media.tumblr.com/26cf05c40be6bedd230629df83253ef6/tumblr_nh04tfEFEp1scx9bko4_250.png). 

Ian continued, “I mean I like them, they’re totally hot on you, but do you need them? I mean do you --”

“Yeah. the lenses don't do anything,” Mickey admitted.

Ian grinned. 

“Knew it!” 

“I wore glasses back in school but I guess now they’re kind of a comfort thing --”

“Old times' sake.” He paused, considering. “I’d figured they were kind of a fashion statement --”

Mickey’s surprise showed in his posture. 

“Really?“

“- but then the rest of your outfit is... Not.”

Mickey looked down at his attire self-consciously, clearly perched and ready to move, either away or into a fracas, depending on Ian’s next words.

“Don't take that wrong. It’s refreshing. I mean look around. People try so hard to look how they think they should look.”

As Mickey looked around, he could see Ian was right. Every person in the club was just a little too accessorized, or matchy-matchy, or just too… clean.

“They probably watched too many movies.”

Ian lightly touched Mickey’s glasses, making Mickey draw his head back slightly in alarm.

“But I like these. They’re authentically you.”

Mickey could feel a blush start at his ears.

“To be straight wit ya, I think I wear them for something to hide behind,” he admitted, shocking himself.

“Something transparent to hide behind. Okay. “ Ian’s laugh this time didn’t feel mean, and Mickey grinned.

Just then ‘Blondie’ put the drinks on the bar. 

Ian thanked him and the two clinked glasses before taking sips. 

Mickey coughed, “That's -- “

“Never tasted it before?” Ian seemed amused and surprised.

The brunette didn’t respond at first, just sipped more.

“No. I just-- haven't had it in a while. It's good. “

Ian was ‘inspecting’ him again, Mickey could feel the heat of his gaze and kept his eyes fixed on the middle distance.

“Do you live here?” Ian inquired.

“No, but --”

“A tourist, then?”

Mickey waved his head, unsure of how to answer. 

“We'll go with tourist. So you're new here?”

“First fuckin' night," Mickey admitted. 

“First night! Well okay.” Ian clinked his glass against Mickey’s again.


	4. 4.  I never ask for more than I deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's dance.  
> Or not.

Ian cocked his head to the side, listening above the crowd to a new song playing. Janet Jackson was crooning about how her lover didn’t treat her well anymore. Mickey knew the song, though he would never admit it.

A grin lit Ian’s face, “Oh my God! We HAVE to dance to this.” He took a huge gulp, finishing his drink. 

Mickey stared as his pale throat flexed with the swallowing, before the statement registered in his brain.

“With each other? Two dudes?”

Ian’s smile took on a warmer cast as he held his hand out to Mickey,“Uh huh.”

Mickey studied the dance floor critically. People uninhibited, laughing, enjoying themselves. No one seemed to be watching anyone else, but still...

He glared and instead of taking Ian’s hand, folded his arms, growling “I don’t fuckin’ dance.”

Ian laughed as if Mickey had made the wittiest joke and held out his hand again, insisting, “Ah let’s not limit ourselves... “ 

He reached over and grabbed Mickey’s hand, starting to lead, well, really drag, him toward the dance floor. 

Mickey dug his heels in, still hesitant. 

Without meeting Ian’s eyes, he mumbled at the floor, “I can’t.”

“My ass you can’t, c’mon--”  
\--“I’ll look dumb and...” Mickey’s voice was effectively inaudible above the ambient noise, but Ian could tell from his hunched shoulders what he was saying, even if he couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Just follow my lead,” and pulled Mickey through the crush of swaying people to the middle of the dance floor.

By the time they reach an open spot, Ms. Jackson was well into the chorus, demanding an accounting from her partner. Ian danced, seemingly oblivious to the encroaching crowd, swaying his body and leading with his hips in ways that had Mickey’s collar heating.

Mickey was… almost standing still. Nearly all of his attention was on Ian, except when he glanced around, and made a concerted effort to move his shoulders, feet still planted firmly on the floor.

Ian leaned in, smiling, “Just copy me, Mick!”

He started a move-- nothing too elaborate -- indicating Mickey should copy. Mickey tried it and felt his gut loosen slightly. Ian laughed and nodded encouragement. 

“You got it!”

Mickey’s look of fierce concentration faded and his eyes relaxed slightly, the very hint of a smile. His stiffness and hesitancy ebbed, giving way to enjoyment.

Ian met his eye and did a slow, sensuous body roll that Mickey in turn tried his best to emulate. They play like that for a bit, Ian performing increasingly showy moves and Mickey echoing, or endeavoring. Soon more of the people nearby started to notice Ian and a small circle formed around the two men- not mocking or judging, but appreciating Ian’s fluid grace.

Once the crowd formed around Ian, staring, Mickey’s awkwardness flooded back. He stared, wide-eyed, first at Ian’s oblivious, happy, and yes, _sexy_ , moves, then at the people nearby, anxiety writ large across his forehead, before he backed away, turning, leaving only the back of his windbreaker visible through the crowd when Ian finally noticed his departure.


	5. 5. And I don't want to talk about the trap, I've dreamed big

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Like a frightened horse on a frozen lake back there."  
> A real conversation, some flirtation, some revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still need a beta for this because I am shifting the verb tenses from present to past I am SURE I am still missing some. Familiarity with San Junipero isn't necessary but seriously it is SO GOOD YOU NEED TO WATCH IT.  
> Comments make my heart grow fonder.  
> Also, full disclosure, I am leaning on the Emmy-award winning film shooting script to make sure I stay accurate. Don't sue me, please.

Mickey flung open the fire door and ducked out, stopping abruptly when he found it was raining. Not pouring, but a heavy, misty drizzle that could soak if he lingered too long, so he hurried under a nearby awning.

The fire door swung open again as Ian stepped out, scanning until he saw Mickey.

“Hey. Why'd you run away?”

Mickey met his eyes, then looked away. “Sorry -- I ain’t much of a dancer.”

This made Ian laugh, “No shit. Like a frightened horse on a frozen lake back there.”

“Well, fuck you very much,” Mickey retorted, giving him the finger and turning towards to road.

Ian raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I'm kidding.”

Mickey turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. 

Ian continued, “Well, half kidding. Sorry I pushed you into it. Saturday night's once a week, it's like no time, I get impatient.”

Mickey sat down gingerly on a low wall with a sigh. 

“It’s not that; everyone was looking.”

“Looking-?” Ian’s face was the picture of confusion.

Mickey waved a hand, indicating the two of them. “You know? Two guys, dancing? Super faggy.”

“Okay: one, folks are way less uptight than they used to be, and two, this is a party town, no-one’s judging.” Ian looked down at himself, his denim outfit, and did a mimicry of an exaggeratedly sexy body roll. “Face it, if they were staring it’s because I. Am. Bodacious.”

Mickey can’t help it, he laughs at the dorky redhead.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

Ian heard the warmth and compliment, and grinned back. “Thank you.”

Mickey looked up through the mist at the sky.

“I've never been on a dance floor before.”

“Never? As in ‘whole time you've been alive’, never?” Ian was incredulous.

“Nope.” Mickey let the final ‘p’ pop through his lips.

“What are you, like, Amish? That's one sheltered existence you got there.”

Silently, Mickey shrugged, shoving his hands down into his pockets, taking a deep breath.

“As far as my family's concerned, I can't do anything.”

Ian sat down on the low wall beside him, agreeably.

“Yeah. Well. No-one knows about even half the shit I get up to. With your folks, it's from a place of love, though right? They worry.”

“They don't fuckin’ worry. Just the concept of me enjoying myself... That would blowwww their minds. Then they would murder me, until I was dead.”

Ian took Mickey in, his dark hair wet from the precipitation, his pale skin, the glasses hinting at fogging up that masked the color of his eyes, the few pale freckles that would perfuse in warm weather. Mickey stared at the ground, kicking his legs against the half-wall awkwardly. Taking the opportunity, Ian appreciated his tight jeans, the strong thighs, then looked again at Mickey’s face.

“What would you like to do? That you've never done?”

He sidled in, a little closer. 

Mickey met his eyes with a small, tight smile,“Uh... Oh so many things.”

“San Junipero's a party town. All up for grabs, babe. Midnight's two hours away,” Ian cajoled, inching still closer. 

Mickey cracked his knuckles suddenly, then ran his thumb across his lips in a way that Ian could tell was probably just an anxious habit, but had the added effect of letting Ian realize how plush those lips looked. 

“That's not long,” Mickey stated, still looking down.

Ian reached out to ruffle some of the dampness from Mickey’s dark hair; Mickey flinched back at the move, but then stopped himself, letting Ian touch his hair, just watching cautiously as Ian leaned in, shoulder to shoulder, whispering almost in his ear.

“Why waste time sitting here?”

He slid his hand onto Mickey’s inner thigh, feeling the tension shoot through the man, attributing it to attraction.

Mickey exhaled deeply, then he abruptly stood up, flustered. 

“I - uh -- I -- listen --”

Ian wasn't offended, immediately took it with good grace, hands back in the supplicating, not guilty, position, “It's okay. No harm, no foul.”

“No, I mean --” Mickey shoved his glasses up and put his hand over his eyes, “Dammit,” rubbing his face, releasing his eyes, letting his glasses drop back into place, “Look, I -- ah -- you seem --” 

“Really, it's okay.”

“I'm engaged. I have a fianceé,” Mickey blurted out.

“At your age?” Ian quirked an eyebrow at this disclosure. 

“Yes. I know. Yes.” Mickey nodded, accepting that it was fucking weird.

Ian was definitely amused by Mickey’s embarrassed flustering.

“She’s a good lady, a nice lady.”

“Good lady nice lady-- sounds like a real winner.” Ian rolled his eyes.

“She’s a good person,” Mickey protested.

“Rootin' tootin' straight lady--”

“Lana, her name is Lana.”

“And is Lana here?” Ian inquired pointedly. 

“No, she's --” He waved his hand to indicate the world at large.

“Elsewhere?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Uh-huh.” Ian paused. “You want to go to bed with me? We could be back at mine like--” He snapped his fingers. 

Mickey admitted quietly, “I never did anything like that.” 

A grin grew on Ian’s face, “All the more reason.” 

Mickey clearly agonized for a few long moments.

“I... You're so hot. I can't.”

Ian shrugged. “Okay.”

“I can’t,” Mickey still floundered, torn, “ I…”

Another good-natured shrug from Ian. “It’s ok. I got it.”

Mickey stood, suddenly, no longer comfortable leaning against Ian.

“I have to go.”

“In this?” Ian gestured at the mist that was clearly determined to level-up to rain in the near future.

Mickey stuck out his hand, saying “Good to meet, ya.”

Ian looked at the proffered hand, amused, then shook it, relishing just for a moment the warmth and calluses.

“Likewise.”

Mickey turned and started to quickly walk away, Ian watching, still amused, but also appreciating the view of Mickey’s ass.

After a half block of internally arguing with himself, Mickey began to mumble to himself.

“Okay. Okay. Okay. Shit. Shit.”

He stopped, looked at the sky again, closed his eyes, and exhaled deeply. As he opened his eyes, he made a decision and turned to walk back to the half wall outside the club, to… Ian. 

But he’s not there.

Mickey just caught a glimpse of Ian’s red hair as he walked back into the club, the door closing sonorously behind him.

Deciding not to follow, Mickey turned again, heading out of town, his shoulders and his heart low. 


	6. 6. You can't be saved/Oblivion is all you crave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey gets dressed.  
> That's it.

_**ONE WEEK LATER** _

Mickey’s room was more of a closet. The walls were curiously bare, but some new wave band’s music filled the space.

He stood in front of a full length mirror, wearing a different version of last week’s ensemble, turning a bit to inspect himself, frowning.

He tried a full-on preppy dream. Lilac polo shirt with a cream-colored cardigan tied around his shoulders, khaki shorts held up by a ribbon belt, and a truly hideous pair of boat shoes on his feet. He was more than dissatisfied this time, he truly didn’t think he could ever be seen in public in this outfit.

A full suit and tie was the next choice, well fitted to flatter. He wrinkled his nose nevertheless.

He pulled off his glasses and leaned in, to inspect his face from every possible angle, looking for something he couldn’t quite find.

Finally, he tried something different.

Black distressed leather jacket, collar popped. Thinly striped tee-shirt underneath, loose, as a nod to the New Wave movement. That was almost it… Tastefully ripped jeans and a pair of black Doc Marten’s completed the look. 

He put his glasses back on, tried a smile in the mirror, then bared his teeth at his reflection. That felt right. This was his battle armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the image I used as reference for Mickey's final outfit.  
> https://assets.change.org/photos/3/sb/qc/mTSbqCkieGpbSCg-800x450-noPad.jpg?1524099522


	7. 7. But some say a man ain't happy unless a man truly dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes wants Ian in his life for more than one night a week: Ian doesn't even want Wes in his life for another minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also two chapters today because the first one was small.  
> I know Stephen King says don't worry about about the "said"s and adverbs, but the dialogue never reads right for me unless I have them. So, sorry.

Ian sauntered out of a beach house, unrushed, towards a yellow open-top Jeep. He climbed in, revved the engine, music blasting. He turned his body to look backwards as he pulled out of the driveway, but when he turned back, Wes was in the middle of the road. 

Ian’s face wasn’t mean, but he wasn’t impressed or patient either. He gunned the engine and drove around him, wheels spraying sand and gravel.

* * *

Once on the road, Ian sang along, hitting the steering wheel with the beat of the music. As he entered the city, his music seemed to shrink and echo back from the tall buildings until he swung into the lot and cranked the parking brake.

He climbed out, locked his door, turned around--

And there was Wes.

“What the hell, Wes?” Ian shook his head in frustration and headed for the bar, Wes trailing behind him, talking to his turned back.

“Look, okay, I know-- “

Ian wearily interrupted, “--I'm red-lighting you. For real, okay?” 

“No! Don't, please Ian!” 

“Then stop this. It’s embarrassing for both of us.”

“Just hear me out.” 

Ian stopped, frustrated, then turned, putting on a calm mien.

“Listen, Wes, How many guys you think there are in San Junipero? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“I don't care about other guys --”

“I'm saying there's plenty of other men for you, Wes. Ones you could actually settle down with.”

“The locals, they're like dead people--”

Ian looked pointedly at the rowdy line that had formed at the entrance to the Fairy Tale.

“A little lively for dead people,” he quipped.

“I don't want some boring romance like, Jesus, ‘put us in the retirement home’, deal,” Wes pleaded.

Dismissively, Ian refused to feed into this ploy. “Wes, if you just want someone to fuck, there's options, hang out at The Quagmire again.”

“It's not just sex--” Wounded, Wes shoved his hands into his pockets.

“It _was_ just sex--” Ian retorted.

“But we made a connection!”

“Wes? Truly: it was just sex.” Ian didn’t say it unkindly, but with enough emphasis that he hoped Wes might finally get the picture. 

Wes was a little wounded, “But. No…”

Ian reached out, tugging Wes’s hand out of his pocket, to hold it in his own for a moment. “I'm done with attachments. I went down that road. For a long time. And it's -- I can't do that again. No roots.”

Ian put his other hand on Wes’s cheek. “We had fun. I'm sorry.” He paused. “Enjoy the town for fuck’s sake.”

Wes nodded, pulling his hand back and scuffing his feet against the small rocks in the lot, watching as Ian cut the line into the bar with a bright smile.


	8. 8. 'Cause I know what's goin' on/ In your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another week, another meeting, another chance.

In the bar, Ian quickly found a drink and a seat at the bar, where a Don-Johnson-Miami-Vice wannabe sidled up to him. 

“Hey,” Don-Johnson offered.

Ian wasn’t particularly interested, but it was too early in the night to be a total dick.

“Hey,” he said a little flatly.

“You waiting for someone?”

“Not really,” Ian admitted.

“Buy you a drink?”

“Sure.”

Across the bar, Micky watched the dude approach and flirt with Ian, having a thousand conversations in his head about whether to interrupt, whether Ian needed or wanted to be saved, whether he could even get up the courage to go talk to Ian after what happened last week,, especially since Ian seemed to be listening attentively to the Miami-Vice wannabe.

Ian was bored out of his mind. The Don-Johnson man, Harvey, was perseverating on his history of health issues.

“... so it was microsurgery I guess, I mean both my kneecaps were just totally worn down…” 

Ian sighed deeply, and tried to scan the crowd surreptitiously.

Mickey exhaled, calming himself, mentally counting down before he started walking over.

Harvey drew Ian’s attention back to him with a finger touching Ian’s cheek. Ian pulled back swiftly with a frown but Harvey didn’t even notice, his attention captured by the music.

.. _.As I open my eyes/Someone's foolin'/I found a way to break through this cellophane bag..._

“Never got this song; kinda weird,” he laughed. 

Ian’s eye saw … something in the crowd and a smile spread across his face as he spotted Mickey uncomfortably trying to cross the dance floor in his direction.

But instead of waiting for Mickey, Ian turned the smile on Harvey and held out a hand, “Shall we dance?”

Harvey clearly couldn’t believe his luck and quickly acquiesced, letting Ian lead them to the dance floor.

Mickey stopped his slow progress to watch Ian as he entered the fray. A new song had come on .. _.I've got to let you know/You're one of my kind/I need you tonight/'Cause I'm not sleeping…._

Ian danced, aware that more than one pair of eyes was glued to him; Mickey just stared, captivated and hating himself for not being able to join Ian or walk away.

When the song ended, Ian, breathing lightly and beautifully flushed, sat in a booth with Harvey, who took a new conversational tack- sports. Across an aisle, Mickey sat alone, nursing a tall Cola, trying not to stare like a creeper at Ian. When Ian looked in his direction, Mickey quickly glanced down at his drink.

Then back at Ian. This time, Ian was blatantly looking at him and sipping from a long straw. Mickey’s mind immediately went to the suggestive nature of the act, and he was embarrassed to feel a blush heat his temples, as he swiftly looked away. This was… like middle school girl shit. _So stupid_ , he berated himself mentally.

Ian smiled faintly, leaning in to Harvey, interrupting. 

“... I mean I guess if at the time I'd put that money into, like computing, caught that first wave, woulda been a different story -”

“- Gotta use the bathroom, babe.”

He stood and walked to the restroom, giving Mickey a quick glance as he passed that table.

Mickey silently debated for another moment, then stood, abandoning his drink and followed.

There was no one else in the restroom. Ian stood at one of the sinks, looking at his hair in the mirror when Mickey walked in and stood at the sink to Ian’s left. 

He just… stood there. No one said anything.

“I don't know how to do this,” Mickey admitted.

Ian was still preening himself in the mirror and replied with mock innocence.

“Do what?”

Mickey’s frustration was evident.

“Just help me, asshole. Can you just --”

Ian finally looked at him, but Mickey continued, unable to make eye contact.

“Can you make this easy for me?” 

Ian touched his face, an entirely different move than the one Harvey used earlier. This one isn’t casual or manipulative.

“You want to get out of here?”

Mickey, looking at the floor, nodded. 

“Then let's do that.”

Ian led Mickey out via the fire escape, walked to the Jeep, opened the passenger door. Mickey stood, hesitating, staring at the Jeep and taking quick breaths. 

“I got to lift you up and put you in?” Ian teased.

Mickey shot him the finger and climbed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, just a note that all things that seem odd or out of place probably will make sense by the end. Unless I screwed up pronouns again. Just shoot me a comment if you see what looks like an error :)
> 
> Also my first horse's name was Harvey, so it's weird to write a Harvey that isn't a good soul. Oh well!


	9. 9. I'll never forget the sound that night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ride, a house, and more.

Ian’s jeep sped down a coastal road in the moonlight. 

Mickey winced a little every time the tires slipped on a bend.

“Relax, Mick, what’s the worst that’s gonna happen?” Ian teased, glancing at him.

Mickey looked out the window, then back at Ian.

“How long have you been here?”

“Sorry?” Ian hadn’t caught Mickey’s words, slipped out more to the windshield than to him.

Mickey raised his voice gruffly, “How long you been here?”

“In San Junipero?”

Mickey rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Ah…” Ian had to think about this question for a moment. “Couple months.”

He took a breath and continued. 

“Plan is: long enough to enjoy myself.” He glanced meaningfully at Mickey. “Guess I'm a tourist like you.”

Mickey went back to staring out the window, his eyebrows furrowed and trouble writ across his features. Ian couldn’t see, though, he did notice Mickey’s lack of engagement and eye contact.

“Hey.”

Nothing from Mickey. 

“You okay?” Ian’s voice rose slightly in concern.

“Yeah,”Mickey replied flatly, but he turned back to see Ian,looking straight at him, not watching the road at all.

Suddenly Mickey saw headlights swing across the road, and start heading directly for them. Ian’s Jeep had drifted into the oncoming lane. 

The look of panic that took over Mickey’s face was instantaneous.

His hand reached out to grip Ian’s thigh. 

“Shit!”

Ian quickly tugged the wheel, sending the car off the road, along a dusty bank until the car skidded to a halt. 

Ian peeked first at Mickey’s hand, still holding his thigh, then at his face, finding him ruffled, breathing quickly. Suddenly, Ian clapped his hands, choking out a quick laugh.

“Sorry but --” He laughed again, “Man, your fucking face.”

Mickey pulled a face and made a sarcastic laugh, as Ian started the engine again.

…

When Ian parked the Jeep in front of his house, the two walked in the front door.

Mickey looked around, appreciatively. It’s a nice place, spacious, cool color palette, a few personal effects.

“Wow.”

“You like it?” Ian’s pride was audible.

“It’s just so clean- and big.”

Ignoring the double entendre, Ian’s grin grew, “It’s the total opposite of where I grew up.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Mickey was still wandering around, not touching anything, until he stopped in front of a small photo on the mantelpiece.

A family, clustered around a homely kitchen table. The people aren’t posed, they’re caught unawares, one scrawny kid still reaching for a bread roll, mouth half full. Mickey could guess which one was Ian by the shock of bright red hair and spray of freckles on the pre-teen’s face. In the picture, a banner hangs crookedly, ‘Happy 21st Fi!’

“Family looks nice,” Mickey comments.

Ian gently turned Mickey away from the photo, to face him instead. Then he started kissing Mickey. After a long moment's hesitation, Mickey reciprocated eagerly. 

It was dark in living room, only the moonlight shining through the open beach windows, the long white curtains blowing in the sea breeze. 

Ian and Mickey’s kiss grew in intensity, and their hands grappled, pulling off clothing, touching, craving skin.

Mickey pulled back, suddenly. 

“I ain’t-- I mean, this--” He ducked his head, too frustrated to make eye contact and admit his situation.

Ian kissed him, more slowly this time, “S’all good, Mick. I’ve got you.”


	10. 10. Sometimes you picture me/I'm walking too far ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No smut here, but some secrets.   
> *Bonus extra chapter tonight!*

Afterwards, they laid side by side in the darkness, looking up at the ceiling. 

Ian spoke, breaking the not-uncomfortable silence. “You never slept with a guy before?”

His hand stayed on Mickey’s sternum, feeling his pulse increase at the question.

“That’s not a fucking complaint. I mean that was fucking awesome.”

“Never with a guy.” Ian almost wasn’t sure he’d heard it, the grunting reply from Mickey maybe wasn’t even meant for him.

“And only once with a… ya know, with a chick. My dad paid for it and I couldn’t, couldn’t get out of it, so I let her blow me, but that was it.” There was shame, and also shyness in Mickey’s voice. 

Ian was astonished.

“Not even here? Not in town, or --

“No-one nowhere.” Ruefully, Mickey let out a bark of laughter, “Guess you basically deflowered me.”

“I "deflowered" you?” Ian laughed, “What is this, Merrie England?” He made the air quotes in the darkness with his hands until Mickey punched him affectionately.

“Shut up!”

“You've had relationships though?” 

Mickey shook his head. “Where I grew up, when I was a kid, it just wasn’t-- no one did this sort of shit. And then after I got older, my Dad--”

“Hello, you have a fucking fiancé though,” Ian pointed out.

Mickey sighed deeply. “It's - that's - complicated.”

“Yeah, I’ll say.”

The silence in the room deepened again, full of suppositions and questions.

Ian reached out, and laced his long fingers through Mickey’s running his finger tips over Mickey’s knuckles where he knew the tattoos were.

“When did you know? That you liked guys?” Mickey asked, his voice casually light. “Did you always... know?”

Ian peered at him; he rarely opened up to his conquests, but there was something about those blue eyes that pulled the truth from him.

“I always knew. As a kid, then when I was in the army, and later I was with my family, my sisters and brothers, and I-- I wasn’t well. I always had a guy, or more than one.” He laughed, ruefully. “But no one ever stayed. They never chose to stick around. There was always something wrong with me, I guess.”

Mickey turned to face him, rubbed his nose into Ian’s cheek, stroked his hair. 

There were tears glinting in Ian’s eyes now and his voice quavered as he spoke.

“So now it's me. And I'm passing through. And before I leave I'll have a good time.” He paused. “I'm just gonna have a good time.”

Mickey kissed him deeply, thumbs brushing the tears away, teeth nipping at Ian’s bottom lip, worrying at it, licking until Ian pulled away, flushed and annoyed by the vulnerability he had shown.

Mickey glanced at the clock.

It was 11:59 PM. 

“Time's nearly up.” Mickey noted.

They laid, in the dark, without speaking, for a full fifteen seconds. 

The clock radio hit 12:00 AM, and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am bad at smut, so this fic will be pretty accurate to the show in it's PG-13 rating.  
> Reminder that this is a Sci fi AU, so more will be revealed...


	11. 11. And when the night falls/ loneliness calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey's on a search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today. Maybe a second one later if I get inspired.

**ONE WEEK LATER**

Mickey was back in town, passing the appliance store with the TV’s blathering and showing lights in the window. He didn’t stop this time, went right into the Fairy Tale, a man on a mission.

Inside, he looked around, not even making a pretense that he wasn’t looking for Ian.

Not at the bar.

Not in the arcade section.

Not sitting in a booth, alone or otherwise. 

Mickey swiped a hand across his mouth, frustrated and confused.

Finally, he took a stool at the bar and ordered a Cola from the blonde barman, vaguely hoping Ian might come walking through the door at any moment.

At the bottom of his first drink, when he had signaled Blondie to come back, he held up a finger after his order, shouting and leaning over the bar to be heard.

“You seen Ian?”

“Who’s that?” 

“Ian. Tall, built, redhead?”

Blondie grinned, “Haven’t seen him all night.”

Mickey glanced around again.

“You tried the Quagmire?” The barman’s voice brought Mickey’s attention back.

“The fuck’s the Quagmire?”


	12. 12. Don't step out of this house if that's the clothes you're gonna wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the Quagmire. Now what's the password?

Mickey stood beside the road, basically in the middle of nowhere. He glanced at the dark scribbles on one palm, and then back at the imposing metal gate in front of him, blocking the road. Beside the gate, on a small pole, was a sort of entry buzzer intercom device.

Instead of a name, the label simply read “Q.” With a shrug, he pushed the button.

“Uh-huh?” The voice that erupts is bored.

“Hey, I’m--- I’m looking for someone?”

“Good luck with that.” With a clear ‘click’ the voice was gone and the connection was broken. 

_Fuck this._

Mickey stabbed the button again with a finger.

“You want in?” The disembodied voice made even this question sound soporificly boring.

Mickey cleared his throat, “Yeah.”

“You sure?” The voice actually had half a tone of interest now.

“Uh, yeah -- I -”

“What’s the password?”

Mickey had a moment of panic; the barman hadn’t said anything about a password. But he could do this.

“Fuck you’s the password, bitch.”

A brief laugh. “Close enough.”

There was a buzz as the gate’s lock disengaged. 

Mickey pulled it open, and stepped through. A few meters down the path, he could see-- something. And hear it too, now that he noticed. 

Further down the path, the neon sign came into view, “QUAGMIRE.” Music blared from within, motorcycles are parked in every available spot and on every formerly open patch of grass, with no rhyme or reason. Off to the left was a black pickup, parked, with two women making out in the back. Or fighting. Mickey wasn’t totally sure.

_The fuck is this place?_

Mickey steeled himself, put his meanest mug on, and stepped into the club: he almost left immediately.

The inside of the club looked like it had been lifted from a German techno S&M music video. There were people dancing in cages, which could have been hot, but the dancing was less sexy than it was outright aggressive. Plus there were snakes in the cages.

A woman with a shaved head, wrapped in chains, wore nothing but a tight jockstrap and an absurdly serious face, danced directly in Mickey’s path, like she thinks he's a frickin' art installation. Mickey didn’t want to engage, so he tried to step around her; she danced into his way again. Mickey stepped the other way, and the dancer finally relented.

Mickey looked around, trying to see if Ian was somewhere in this abyss, peering through the smoke for a glimpse of red hair. 

Nothing.

People were making out in the corners; more than making out, in one threesome’s case.

Dancers, each moving to a different beat, all swarmed, sometimes shifting into grappling, sex, slapping fights, fistfights, and even in one memorable sight, fist fucking. Mickey kept his face unfazed, neutral as he kept scanning.

But no Ian.


	13. 13. Oh yeah, I am one happy prick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inside the Quagmire.

A couple sidled over to Mickey- a man and a woman, both in their mid-twenties, dressed incongruously as sailors.

“Hey,” SailorMan sallied.

“Wanna have a good time?” This was SailorWoman.

“Nah,” Mickey held his hands up, “I’m good here.” He quickly walked away, trying to leave the couple in the dense crowd, but the pressure from each side began to feel claustrophobic.

Mickey navigated the stuffed corridors, squeezing past more people in various states of dress and undress, trying not to touch anyone too intimately as he made his way. The further into the club he went, the smaller the rooms got, the more side doors appeared, and the hallways kept making odd turns, until he felt both buried and lost.

At one point, he passed through a room that was definitely an orgy. He might have stopped to get an eyeful before moving on his search for Ian. He passed an open doorway and glimpsed over shoulders, and between arms, a bare-knuckled melee fight, at least 15 people of all ages and genders, just whaling on each other. No blood though, which was fuckin’ weird.

Finally, when he was both hopelessly lost and ready to head out, he walked into Wes, literally walked right into the guy’s shoulder as he strode past, clutching a beer.

“Woah, hey,” Wes spoke before he saw who he had collided with.

“Watch yourself!” Mickey’s tone was biting, both because of Wes’s implied blame for collision and for the guy himself.

“Sorry,” Wes backed down when he saw the heat in Mickey’s eyes, then paused. “Wait, I know you from somewhere-- Fairy Tale.” He looked Mickey up and down, appraising. “Ian’s friend, huh?”

“Yeah, sure. You know where to find him?”

“How would I know that?” Wes started to walk away.

“You’re his-- friend.” Mickey said, lamely.

“Was a friend. Not anymore.” Wes looked regretful.

“Whatever. Has he been here?”

“No.” He looked at Mickey again, more closely. Then the penny dropped. “You too, huh? Well --”

He lifted his beer and took a sip in a kind of toast. 

Mickey looked at him flatly. This was no use; he just needed to leave.

Maybe Wes could see that, because he took pity on Mickey.

“Try a different time. Seen him in '80. Mid 90s. '02 one time.” He took another swig of the beer. “He's worth a shot, right?”

Mickey just nodded, and turned to find the exit.


	14. 14. Take the cold from snow/ tell the trees, don't grow/Tell the wind don't blow/'cause it's easier.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's try 1980.

**_ONE WEEK LATER_ **

Mickey stood in the middle of the same downtown street. At least, the street name was the same. The basic architecture was the same. But the billboard had changed, and instead of Corvettes and Escorts, the street was filled with Cutlass Supremes and even the odd neon Gremlin.

His shoulder pads were smaller, and his hair was styled subtly differently, less spiked, and smoother. MaX Headroom wasn’t on the appliance shop’s screens anymore, but a scene from _Dallas_. Mickey ignored the whole “Who shot JR?” scene and walked purposefully to the Fairy Tale.

Inside the bar, he checked every corner, as was becoming his habit. The arcade has Pac Man, Rally-X, and Missile Command, but no giant red-head. Mickey’s disappointment was evident on his face for just a moment: the woman from his previous visit to games stepped out of the shadow. He carefully blanked his face.

“Hey, Fuck-up,” Arcade-lady cooed.

“It’s Fuck U-up.” Mickey automatically corrected her, holding up his fist to let her read. 

“Wicked. I’m Danielle. Dani.” She held her hand out, waiting for him to shake it.

Instead, Mickey stared at her hand, hanging in space between them. Danielle, _Dani_ , seemed to get the message and retracted her palm. 

She indicated the Pac Man cabinet.

“Golden age, right?”

“Sure.” Mickey kept scanning the crowd as new faces kept streaming in the bar.

“You playing, or..?” Dani held out a coin between her index and middle finger, like a cigarette.

Mickey eyed the coin. “Sorry. Looking for someone.”

Danielle nodded, “Maybe next time?”


	15. 15.  I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd/I felt he'd found my letters and read each one out loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1996 was a weird year. It brought us Whitewater, Foxcatcher, Kasprarov, Braveheart, the Unabomber, the 96' Olympics in Atlanta, Tiger Woods, the Ninetendo 64, and the OJ Simpson trial.

**_ONE WEEK LATER_ **

The billboard outside the Fairy Tale now had an ad for Independence Day, with Will Smith’s face and grin watching over the street like a manic god.

A '96 Ford Contour slid by. 

Mickey was back on the same street, same buildings, but he had another new outfit.

Black tight tee under a grey henley, with a plaid flannel shirt on top, baggy jeans on his legs, with the requisite chain keeping his wallet in his pocket. Like anyone would try and lift if off him.

The TV’s in the window were relaying a news story about the Atlanta Olympics, and the neon sign outside the Fairy Tale had a new font.

The arcade had more blacklight, and a new game, TIME CRISIS, which looked like an early Playstation attempt to recreate the movie Die Hard. 

Instead of 80’s pop, this song playing to the dancing and drinking masses is  _ Killing Me Softly _ by The Fugees. 

Mickey checked all the same places as last week: bar, booths, arcade, bathroom. 

He sighed. No dice.


	16. 16. Keeping my eyes open/I cannot afford to sleep/Giving away promises/I know that I can't keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where, oh where, can my baby be?

Mickey was standing outside Ian’s beach house. 

The lights were off, and it looked deserted. 

He tried peering through a window, nothing. 

Checked a door with a finger lightly: locked.

He stood back staring up to the windows on the second floor.

“Ian!” He hissed, even though there was no one around for what felt like miles.

Then more loudly, “Hey, firecrotch!”

But nothing.


	17. 17. Boy, it's more than I dare to think about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2002\. Ian is found.

**_ONE WEEK LATER_ **

Tonight, the billboard is advertising the forthcoming  _ Bourne Identity _ . A Chrysler PT Cruiser thrummed past. 

Mickey wore a ringer tee, and the TV’s in the shop window were showing news clips about the kidnapping of Elizabeth Smart, but he didn’t even give it a glance. Into the Fairy Tale he went.

The music system was blaring  _ Can't Get You Out of My Head _ and a quick scan of the usual locations revealed no lanky redheads waiting, skulking, dancing, or otherwise.

Mickey was turning to go when he walked past the arcade section and saw the Namco Dance Dance Revolution 7th Mix machine -- one of those huge two-player 'dancing games' where you step on pads on the floor to progress - when he suddenly stopped.

_ Ian  _ was dancing on it. With  _ Dani _ . Her vampy off-the shoulder ripped tee and fluffy gauzy skirt was suddenly looking fashion-forward.

Mickey walked over to watch them as they danced to some hi-energy Japanese pop. Ian and Dani were both doing great, on the beat the whole time, smiling, not winded, giggling a little. As the music came to an end -- they were both awarded a GREAT! ranking. Ian high-fived Dani, and looked around. 

He locked eyes with Mickey, and looked unsure of himself for a moment. The smile dropped, then he turned to Dani.

“Excuse me, restroom.”

He started to head off, Mickey in steady pursuit. By the restroom, he caught up with Ian. 

“Hey, you wait just a minute.”

Ian looked irritated, “Why are you here?”

Mickey hesitated then admitted, “I was looking for you. Where did you go?”

Nonchalantly, Ian replied with a shrug, “Felt like a change of music.”

He pulled a flip phone out of his pocket and started typing, but Mickey immediately snatched it from him and threw it across the room, where it smashed on the tile wall before falling in pieces to the floor.

“How the hell is  _ this  _ your era?” Mickey couldn’t believe this. “You must have been like 10 years old in the early 2000’s, what the fuck, dude?”

Ian stared blankly at the bits of broken phone, “I was looking at that.”

“You were hiding from me.”

Ian shrugged again.

Mickey balled up his fists, then saw Ian notice and consciously relaxed.

“I just-- ah, fuck. Why, Ian?”

Ian started counting off on his fingers

“Number one, I did not ‘hide.’”

He put up a second finger. “ Two, I owe you zero. And three?”

Mickey watched, eyes wide.

“See point two.” Ian shot him the finger and stormed out of the bathroom.


	18. 18. There's a battle ahead/ many battles are lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's learn about the physics of San Junipero! No? Ok, how about some angst?

Mickey was right on Ian’s heels as he tried to leave the restroom, still arguing with the man’s back.

“It's not about who owes who, it's about-- It’s about fuckin’ manners,” he bit out lamely.

“Hah!”

“You don't know what I went through. You don't know what this means.”

Ian waved a hand, indicating the world, “ _ This _ means fun. Or it should.”

Next he waved his hand between them. “And this? This is not fun. Okay. Not fun.”

Mickey stopped fighting, bit his lip, looked away.

Ian tried to placate him, “Okay. Look. Don't--”

Mickey hadn’t been emotional, or sad, he was getting  _ angry _ .

“So you don't feel bad?” Mickey spit the words at Ian.

Ian’s shoulder’s hunched, but he didn’t reply.

“You should feel fucking bad. Or at least feel something.” Mickey’s words were a slap to Ian’s face, so he turned and left.

Mickey sighed deeply. Turned, looked at himself in the mirror. Then, without warning, he punched himself in the mirror, hard. It splintered, shattered. 

He looked down at his hand- no blood. 

When he looked back at the mirror, it was whole again.

His reflection shone back at him, unmarred.

Outside, Ian flung open the fire door and stomped out.

He paced in a circle for a moment, upset and uncertain, not sure what to do.

He spotted the fire escape, snaking up the side of the building: the sound of the fire door opening and closing drew his attention back, but he looked around and couldn’t see anything or anyone.

“Mickey?”

Ian started heading for the main street to see if he could find the man. All he found was a couple, seated on the hood of a car, looking up at something high up, behind him.

He paced over to them.

“You seen a guy, mid-twenties, black hair, glasses?”

The girl half of the couple just pointed up and behind Ian. 

Ian turned, already feeling sick to his stomach.

Standing on the roof of the Fairy Tale, on the very edge, was Mickey, looking down at the sidewalk.

“Ah, shit,” Ian swore loudly. 

As Ian pivoted to head for the fire escape, the girl turned to the guy.

“Why's he up there anyhow?”

“Newbie testing the boundaries. Dumbasses pull that shit a lot.”

He nudged her with a suggestive grin.

“Not that I'm against tourists.”

The girl giggled.


	19. 19. And you give yourself away/My hands are tied/My body bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about our feeeeeelings

Ian clambered off the top of the fire escape. 

Mickey was sitting on the edge now, calmly, legs dangling over the side. 

Ian made his way over to the dark-haired, confusing, attractive, possibly suicidal, man.

“Please tell me you got your pain slider set to zero.”

Mickey just continued to stare out at San Junipero.

Then, with a light sigh, “Think so.”

Ian folded himself a little awkwardly and sat next to him on the edge of the building.

“Okay, listen --”

Mickey cut him off, pointing down at the sidewalk, at the people.

“How many of them you think are dead? Like, what percent?”

“Like, full-timers?” Ian shrugged. “Eighty, eighty-five.”

Mickey nodded.

“I'm sorry.” Ian said finally.

“I'm was never gonna jump--” Mickey met his eyes at last, those icy blue eyes reading more than Ian meant to show.

“I know, I'm sorry whatever. It's -- in the time I've been here -- (sigh) I'm just visiting, you know? And it's -- I didn't want to... I said I wouldn't -- I don't know -- 'do'... feelings…” Ian’s nervous babbling paused, letting out some honesty, “You freaked me out.”

Mickey laughed, a little cynically.

“I freaked  _ you  _ out?”

Ian carefully took his hand.

“I don't wanna 'like' anyone here. So you've been…” Ian laughed gently, “ ... just totally fucking inconvenient.”

Mickey let Ian squeeze his hand, but wasn’t making any eye contact now.

“Is that -- I mean --” Ian stammered, getting emotional. “I don't know how long there is, and I can't -- I -- I wasn't prepared for this, for you, for wanting something so--” 

Abruptly Mickey reached out, cupping Ian’s jaw, then bringing him closer, lips meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if it wasn't clear, San Junipero is a post physical community, where you can either visit while alive, or be uploaded and stay after your death.  
> Neither of our boys is dead yet, so they're both limited to how often (once a week) and for how long they can be there.


	20. 20. If you really met me, I mean if you REALLY met me, you wouldn't like me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I'm getting married next week.

_**Later the same night….** _

The clock on the nightstand read 11:55 PM

The bed was a mess of mixed up blankets half dragged onto the floor, a few pillows shoved behind the headboard, the rest thrown halfway across the room.

A small balcony jutted out from the far wall, and outside, the two men stood.

Mickey was in his dress shirt, unbuttoned and blowing a little in the breeze, smoking. His hair was a wild array of dark shards in the moonlight.

Ian was wrapped in a white sheet, standing behind him, skin nearly glowing. Occasionally, Mickey would pass the cigarette back to Ian, who would take one or two puffs before passing it back.

Both men smoked and stared out at the skyline of San Junipero, glittering in the distance.

Mickey broke the silence, “Can't believe I'm getting married next week.”

Ian hissed out a breath, smoke dissipating in the warm air. “Next week? To 'nice' Lana, right. Sure you're going through with that?”

“No choice,” Mickey replied dispassionately.

“No choice, huh.” Ian elbowed him gently. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Mickey thought for a minute.

“She really is a good person. My family doesn’t fucking like it, but they can’t stop us.”

He paused.

“I know she pities me, that pisses me off, and that's not fair…”

Ian bent over, kissed his cheek.

“Shhh. Enough. It’s ok.”

Mickey thought for a moment.

“You said you didn't know how long there is. Back on the roof. "I don't know how long there is". What was that?”

Ian tensed up a little, leaned away from him and exhaled before speaking, “They tell me three months. It's spread basically everywhere.”

Mickey could hear his voice change as Ian continued to speak through a sardonic grin.

“They've said three months before, six months ago, so y'know, what do they know?”

He looked ruefully at the cigarette Mickey had passed him.

“Doesn’t even taste of anything.”

He passed it back to Mickey, who took one last pull and flicked it over the edge.

A silence wrapped around the two.

“So -- you're gonna stay here? Pass over, go full time?”

Ian shook his head.

“No. When I'm done, I. Am. Done.”

“Yeah, that’s dumb as shit.” Ian barked out a laugh at Mickey’s rough tone. “Why not stay here?”

“My whole family is gone now. The man I thought I loved- well--”

Mickey waited.

“-- I didn’t love him but I really thought he loved me. That was enough. For a long time, that was enough. He died just two years ago. So he had the opportunity to stay in San Junipero, pass over. Didn't take it. Didn't want to take it.”

“Why wouldn't anyone take it?”

“His wife had died, 20 years before. He -- we both -- he had his viewpoint. There were things he believed, and things he didn't believe in, and this place was one of them. Wouldn't even visit, take the trial run. I think in the end, he just wanted to be with her again. I was just a -- a placeholder.”

“Shit, I wasn't sure I wanted to try it out, but -- like without this place I'd never have met someone like you --”

“Yeah you could have --”

“I  _ really  _ wouldn't --”

“We could've met outside all this--” Ian insisted.

“You would not have got me at all. At all. I wasn’t -- I wasn’t a good person. And then-- If you really met me, I mean if you REALLY met me, you wouldn't like me”

Ian tossed his head.“Try me.’

“-- or you wouldn't -- you wouldn't spend time with me -- you'd --” 

“ **Try** me.” Ian repeated forcefully.

Mickey just looked at him wistfully. 

“There's no point. Where are you? Houston…”

“Chicago.”

Mickey said nothing. 

“So come on, I “showed you mine”. Where are you?” Ian teased. “I can just look it up-- “

“I’m in Chicago too.”

“No shit?”

“Shit. Southside shithole hospital.”

“I’m near Northwestern, best views in the city, when they let me out, which is not often.”

“So they won't let you anyway and--”

“Oh, I’ll make them let me.” Ian promised lightly.

Mickey hardened- his face and his resolve. 

“I don't want you to. I don't want you to see me.”

He drew a deep breath.

“I mean I'm scared.”

“And I'm dying." Ian retorted. "I am _dying_. Whatever you are can't scare me.”  He continued, his voice wheedling, “Let me come visit. I wanna say hi.”

Mickey stared at him, trying to memorize the jawline, the affectionate gaze, weighing Ian’s sincerity.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

In the bedroom, the clock radio clicked from 11:59 to 12:00. 

Everything went black.


	21. 21. PRESENT DAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are in the present day... whenever that is.

Outside a care home for seniors, a frail but still tall man in his early 70s is being helped into a slightly futuristic-looking vehicle by a kindly young nurse named Laura. 

His white hair blows slightly in the breeze; you can still see his freckles, which have morphed together with age into swathes of color across his skin.

“Okay Ian... take my hand... Here you go.”

Ian waits, and his nurse, Laura, holds his arm to help him up the stairs. They are at the foot of a somewhat rundown hospital- it isn’t quite the shithole that Mickey promised.

A doctor in his 30s holds out a hand to greet Ian. 

“You must be Ian.”

“I guess I must.”

“He's waiting for you.”


	22. 22.  Hi, Mick.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find Present Day Mickey.

The doctor led Ian to a small private room.

He opened the door for him, then waited outside the room. 

Ian walked inside. He could hear the soft beep of a monitoring device, and the percussive rise and fall of a mechanical ventilator.

The doctor spoke up. “He won’t be able to physically respond in any way, but he can hear you. I'll give you some privacy.”

Ian looked down.

There, lying in bed, was an exceptionally frail man in his late 70s. Silver grey hair, and not much of it. He was in a neck brace. Unable to move. His eyes were open. His mouth was frozen in a blank expression -- neither a smile nor a grimace. 

He’s looking at Ian from his fixed position. 

Ian, for a moment, doesn't know quite what to do. 

He walked nearer. Took a seat beside the bed. 

He looked again, carefully studying the face- it’s definitely Mickey. That's all Ian needs to know.

He took the still man’s hand.

“Hi, Mick.”

Nothing.

Ian squeezed Mickey’s pale hand.

“It's good to see you.”

He stroked Mickey’s sparse hair back from his brow and kissed his forehead lightly.


	23. 23.  Lana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He told you how he ended up quadriplegic? And how long he's been that way?

A little later, Ian’s nurse Laura was helping him along the corridor when a kindly, overweight hospital porter in her mid-40’s caught up with them. 

“Hi -- is it -- Ian?” 

“It is.” He held out a hand. It shook a little.

“I'm Lana.” 

Ian stared at her for a moment. 

“You're Lana ? Well holy shit.”

“You know I think it's great you came in person before he passes over; I mean even his folks don't visit no more so --” 

Ian's face showed his shock. 

“He's passing over?”

He took a long moment to process the idea of Mickey dying.

Lana and Laura exchanged looks of concern and confusion, until Ian finally spoke again.

“When?”

Lana waved an arm in the direction of the hospital canteen. 

“Uh, let's go grab a coffee.”

* * *

In the cafe area of the hospital, Ian sat opposite Lana at a small table. Each had a tray in front of them, littered with snack wrappers and paper coffee cups half drunk and getting cold.

“So, I’m guessing Mickey didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Ian said, "No, he fucking did not. Said he was just visiting.”

“More like sampling the trial version.” Lana offered.

Ian stared down at his cold coffee as Lana continued.

“I mean I only known him the past three years. We talk on the combox. He told you how he ended up quadriplegic? And how long he's been that way?”

Ian didn’t actually say no, but his face was shuttered in a way that said as much,

“So one night, he’s 16 -- his dad walks in on him with a guy. He’s a little ‘uptight’ about it you might say. Dad loses his mind, beats the shit out of Mickey. It’s not natural and so forth. They fight, Mickey actually fights back, but his dad gave him a wicked concussion, supposedly with a pistol whipping, but Mickey won’t talk about that. Anyway, because of the concussion, when Mickey gets in the car, he runs it off the road. Boom.”

“When was he 16?” Ian queried.

“More'n 60 years back. It’s been his whole lifetime basically.”

Lana took a huge bite of a candy bar, then continued. “So the whole San Junipero system's been a big deal for him. Like… the biggest deal.” 

Another bite.

"The hospital didn't have a subscription, not this place-- some of us held a crowd-sourcing campaign. Took us a year but we got the money. Course till he passes over, goes permanent, he's got the five-hour weekly limit - but I guess you're the same.”

Ian nodded slowly, “They ration it out. They don’t trust us with more.” 

“I mean they say you go crazy if you have too much. Never leave your seat, disassociate your body from your mind…” Lana made a dismissive hand motion to indicate her disbelief in this propaganda.

Ian was warming slightly to this woman; she clearly just wanted to help.

“Like that doesn't happen in every senior home already. System's there for therapeutic reasons, officially, at my place. "Immersive Nostalgia Therapy". “Plunge you into a world of memories”; helps with Alzheimers. That's what they say.” He tried to support and justify her implicit position.

Lana stopped eating for a moment and looked at him. 

Ian raised his hands and amended, “That's not my problem incidentally.”

He lowered his hands, smiled, and raised the coffee cup to take a sip, then winced as he took a sip and the taste and temperature registered.

“Small mercies.” Lana replied diplomatically.

Ian desperately wanted to address something more. 

“So. This ‘marriage’..?”

Lana finished her coffee, seemingly impervious to tepid beverages, and exhaled. 

“State's got a triple-lock on euthanasia cases.” She started counting on her fingers. “You gotta have sign off from the doc, the patient, and a family member. Stops people passing over just 'cause they prefer San Junipero flat out.”

Ian sardonically looked around the dowdy canteen, “Who'd want to leave all this wonder?”

Lana chuckled lightly. 

“Heh. Anyhow Mickey’s family? Big time old school. Don't come fuckin' see him-- pardon my tongue -- but they're seriously old school. And they won't sign.”

Ian filled in the blanks. “But a spouse can override that. Hence the wedding bells.”

Lana nodded. “You got it. Got a pastor coming in tomorrow A.M., then he's scheduled to pass tomorrow afternoon. 

Ian scoffed. “'Scheduled to pass'. Let's just call it what it is - dying.”

“If you can call it dying.” Lana demurred.

“Uploaded to the cloud. Sounds like heaven, doesn’t it?” Ian wondered aloud.

“I guess. Haven’t been there myself. You’re more an expert than me.”

“You gonna wear a white dress?”

Lana laughed, shaking her head. “Ceremony's in my coffee break. I never married, so I figured what's the harm?”

Ian watched her eat for a moment. 

“You're a good woman.”

She shrugged, “Least I could do, right?”

Ian thought. 

“You think you could hook us up to the system, now, just for a little while, before he passes?”

Lana’s face quickly went dark. “You can still see him afterwards. I mean then he's 'no limits', he's full-fat permanent San Juniperan--”

Ian turned on his old charm, giving her the 100-watt smile, “I know, but -- can you?”

Lana stopped eating. “We're meant to stick to the five hour cutoff. Once a week--” 

“But you can bend that.” The old man’s tone was cajoling now, wheedling. “They let us have more on birthdays and Thanksgiving. Special occasions.”

“Seriously, it's so tight they--” Lana’s face was opening, not much, but it was something, Ian could tell, so he pressed on.

“Night before his wedding, that's a special occasion.”

Lana considered, chewed at a cuticle.

Time for the final twist of the knife, Ian thought, “I only want a moment.” He made his eyes wide and sincere.

Lana buckled. 

“You brought your…” She gestured vaguely, “Connector with you?”

Ian nodded. “I call it a teeball.”


	24. 24. 5 Minutes, No More.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You got five minutes. No more.”

Back in Mickey’s room, Ian sat in a chair in the corner, a box about the size of a paperback book in his hands. 

He opened it up and there was a small, extendable device within, something like a cross between a set of earphones and a stethoscope. 

Lana, meanwhile, was affixing an identical device to Mickey, a nodule touching his temple, in the bed. 

She looked at Laura, the woman who accompanied Ian here, “Ma'am, watch the door.” Then, to Ian. “You got five minutes. No more.”

“Thanks,” Ian said, sincerely.

Ian positioned the device in place and touched the button on a small handheld controller. A small blue LED embedded in the device nodule started to glimmer.


	25. 25. Pay attention, are you listening?/You're my favorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M- More than anything, more than anyone.

_**1987** _

Ian was in his San Junipero house, during daylight hours. 

He opened the door, and there, looking a little confused, was Mickey. 

“Hey. Mick, over here. Hurry!”

Mickey looked round curiously, “Not been here during daylight hours before. It's warm.”

Ian walked outside to join him, taking Mickey’s hand, interweaving their fingers as they walked down the beach. “So I spoke to Lana.”

“Uh-huh.” Mickey’s response was a vague nonresponse.

“You're passing over tomorrow.” It wasn't an accusation, just a statement of fact, which Mickey didn’t dispute. 

“Couple hours after the wedding. So I guess technically I'm honeymooning here. Forever.” He took a breath, “Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell y--”

Ian put a finger to Mickey’s lips.

”I'm gonna say something crazy.”

Around Ian’s finger, Mickey managed to mumble, “Okay.”

Ian got down on one knee. Right there. 

“I love you, Mickey. M- More than anything, more than anyone. And if you’ll let me, I- I’d like to--

At first, Mickey looked stunned but as the speech progressed, a fond and irritated expression overspread his face as he interrupted Ian.

“Jesus Christ, save the fucking speech, you sound like a bitch. I’ll marry you.”

“Just -- Lana seems great, but -- why not-- Wait, you will?” Ian had a whole line of reasoning planned to convince Mickey to agree and seemed wrong-footed to have the plan derailed.

“Of course. I’ll fuckin' marry you.”

Mickey grabbed Ian’s hand and pulled him to his feet, then into a kiss. Ian wrapped his hand around the back of Mickey’s head immediately, and as the kiss deepened, Mickey followed suit, holding Ian’s face in his hands like a precious object he was afraid to break.


	26. 26. Hey little sister, who's the only one?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nice day for a ... Oh, wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a big sad.  
> Read the tags, and I won't hold it against you if you stop reading this story.

Back in Mickey’s room, the next day, a nondenominational pastor read the words of the marriage ceremony, as Ian sat beside Mickey, holding his hand. 

Lana and Laura look on. 

“...to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer…”

A slow tear rolled down Ian’s wrinkled face.

* * *

A short time later, an official-looking member of staff held out a translucent tablet, with a consent form on it. 

Using his forefinger, Ian tapped a consent box [for 'spouse']; his consent was registered with a light ‘ding.’

The staff member turned to look at a doctor, nodding. 

In the bed, Mickey was hooked up with the 'connector' device. There was also a new tube attached to his arm. 

The doctor held up a syringe, then looked at Ian. 

Ian, sitting beside Mickey, was gently stroking Mickey's hair. 

He gave the nod and the doctor pressed the syringe. 

An opaque white fluid traveled through the snaking pipe, into Mickey's arm. 

The winking LED on the connector started to go into overdrive. 

Ian just continued stroking Mickey's hand until a screen indicated his vital signs had finished. 

Lana drew the sheet over Mickey's face.


	27. 27. On the beach I limped and held your weary hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would NEVER leave you on a big sad moment.

_**Sometime later** _

He was on a beach. 

In the sun, in a small cove with deliciously white warm sand. 

He could hear the waves lapping nearby, and a few seabirds calling, thought he could even smell the tang of salt in the air as he walked down the beach.

He picked up a stone and skipped it into the water. 

Felt the breeze and smiled. 

Sat down on the beach. 

Clenched and unclenched his bare toes in the sand. 

He removed his glasses. 

Looked at them for a moment and dropped them on the sand. 

Mickey looked up and watched the sea and the skies for a while.


	28. 28. Certainty.

_**Present Day** _

Outside of a more upscale hospital, the vehicle drew to a halt. 

Ian was helped out of the vehicle by Laura. 

* * *

Later, in his room, Ian sat in an armchair, coughing-- painfully and deeply. 

With Laura's assistance he slipped on the connector device and sat back in his arm chair. One more cough. 

“You sure you're alright?” The nurse inquired.

Ian nodded, and impatiently indicated for Laura to hit the button. 

He closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter coming, more big sad.


	29. 29.  Although I often reminisce/ I can't believe that I've found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big sad, here. Let it all out, put it all on the table, let's see how bad it is.

**_1987_ **

Mickey stood by the side of the road, waiting. 

Ian cruised up in his jeep, pop song blasting from the stereo. 

The jeep had a bow on the front, and Ian wore a full tuxedo. 

Mickey laughed and brought his hands up to cover his mouth, dragging one thumb across his mouth.

“You didn't dress up to see me? Come on…” Ian pouted playfully.

Suddenly Mickey was also in a tuxedo, but his was white tie rather than Ian’s black tie. 

He indicated himself with a flourish, “Better?” 

Smiling, Ian leaned over and opened the car door. 

Mickey climbed in and they drove off.

There were tin cans affixed to the back, bouncing and sparking off the road. 

  
  


A bit later, they parked in an isolated spot looking down over San Junipero below. The two men sat side by side on the hood, looking out at the lights down below. Crickets chirped and the wind quietly whistled around them.

Mickey looked up at the moon, and back out at the lights. 

“Looks so real,” he rapped his tattooed knuckles on the hood, “Feels so real.” 

He met Ian’s eyes, and stretched up to kiss the redhead, then jumped off the hood and started to kick and dance in the dirt. 

“What are you doing?” Ian laughed.

“This place! I just-- I fuckin love it!” Mickey tried for a cartwheel, failed, and ended up on his ass, looking out into the night.

“I really love it here.” He said, almost too quietly for Ian to hear. 

“You've been here before," Ian said a little dully.

“Yeah, but now I live here. Full time. No more time limits or meters. No more rules!”

He turned to look at Ian, a real smile on his face, no anxiety or anger.

“Stay.”

Ian knew what he meant, but demurred, “I'm with you now.”

The smile faded from Mickey’s face, and the stress returned, furrowing his brow, “That's not what I mean.”

Ian tensed up. 

Mickey persisted, “Pass over. When you're ready, when it's your time. Pass over.”

“Mick --” 

“Just -- stay here, with me.” 

“Can’t we just enjoy tonight --”

Mickey pointedly looked at his watch. “It's ten to midnight, you're out of here in ten and we gotta wait a week to meet again.” 

“You know, I'm just a visitor--” 

Mickey shook his head, frustrated. “For how long? Couple months? Then what?” 

“We're not-- We’re not discussing this.” Ian tried to shut the conversation down imperiously, but Mickey continued.

“Then you'll be gone, just gone. You could have forever.  _ We  _ could have forever.”

Ian scoffed, “Forever, who can even make sense of forever --”

Throwing up his hands, Mickey huffed out a breath. “However long you want then, you can remove yourself like that--” He clicked his fingers. “It's not a trap, it's -- look at it.” 

He gestured around. Then he rapped the hood of the car again, insistently. 

“Touch it.”

Ian got off the car and started heading for the driver's door. 

“I'm outta here.”

Mickey grabbed his arms, turning Ian around. He took Ian's hands and put them on his own face. 

“It's real. This is real. I’m still real. And this.” He gestured to the wedding band on his finger. 

“C’mon, you know that’s a gesture --” 

“You married me--” 

“To help you pass over, as a... kindness --”

“Not fucking kind to leave.”

Ian started to reply, then stopped.

“Look, I’m sorry but -- I’ve got this chance, we got this chance -- I want to share it with you.” Ian wouldn’t meet his eye, so Mickey had to shuffle over, trying to make some kind of contact. Every minute it felt like Ian was already miles away.

Ian pulled away, heading back to the car.

“I said I made my choice.”

“What is it? What, you feel bad 'cause your husband isn't here?” Mickey’s voice had a taunting edge, a mean tone. 

“Don’t.” Ian warned.

“Well, that was his choice.”

“I said, don’t.”

“It's like he left you. Like all of them. I mean he could've passed over here but, no -- he left you.”

Ian was instantly, insanely angry, “You don't know what you're saying.”

But Mickey wasn’t giving up, wasn’t afraid of the rage brewing on Ian’s face and in his posture.

“You should be mad at that dick, not whipping yourself with guilt--”

Mickey reached out to take Ian’s hand again; Ian ripped his hand away viciously. 

“Get off me.”

“You can’t even see it - what he did, it was selfish, actually--”

Ian slapped him.

Mickey held his cheek for a minute, shocked. There's a silence. Then he swung his left hand up, catching Ian’s jaw with his fist.

Tears sprung into Ian’s eyes, but he didn’t fight back.

  
  


“Twenty years. I was there for him for twenty years. You can't begin to imagine -- you can't know - -”

He was beginning to let it all out.

“The bond. The commitment. The boredom. The fucking yearning. You just cannot know. Everything I sacrificed. The years I gave him.”

Mickey was silenced, while Ian was increasingly emotional, and angry. 

“He had a daughter. Alison. Always difficult, always beautiful. Died at 49 years old, bless her heart, and Richard and I, we felt that heartbreak as one. You think you're the only person ever suffered, go fuck yourself.”

“I didn't know--” Mickey began.

“Didn't think to,” Ian bit out. “Y'know when he was dying Rich said to me -- when they offered him this, to pass over, pass through, serve eternity in this fucking graveyard you're so in love with -- he said how can I? When she missed out, how can I? And so he went. He didn’t think for a minute about me, only her. And I wish I could believe he's with her now, they're together, but I don't. I believe they're nowhere. Like you said, gone. Just gone.”

Mickey first tried to touch his jaw where no bruise bloomed, then changed his mind and tried to put a hand on his arm, but Ian physically shoved him off.

“No. I pitied you and that's the truth. I pitied you. And now you give me some sales pitch about how fuckin' peachy 'forever' could be…”

Mickey moved closer, ignoring another push, just squaring up and digging his heels in.

“I'm sorry--” 

“You want to spend forever somewhere nothing matters? End up like Wes; all those... lost fucks at the Quagmire, trying anything just to feel something? You’re not free, you’re just in a new cage. Go ahead. But I’m out. I’m gone.”

“Ian,” Mickey tried, “What we have makes me free.” 

But Ian wasn’t listening anymore. With a final barge, he pushed Mickey back, jumped in the Jeep, and gunned the engine.

Mickey tried to apologize, or to explain, but it was too late.

Ian roared away.


	30. 30. When the night has come/ and the way is dark/And that moon is the only light you see.

Crying, Ian sped along the highway at full throttle. 

The clock on the dash read 11:58. 

He was flying at the car’s full speed, the wind shear pushing the tears out of his eyes and down his face.

'Just Married' cans sparked furiously against the tarmac behind him. 

He swerved around a corner, narrowly avoiding a set of headlights. Slammed his foot harder on the accelerator. 

Up ahead, a section of road gave way to a drop. Before it was a set of concrete barriers. Ian looked at them. 

Aimed the car right for them. The car thumped into the barriers to a dead stop. 

Glass fragments sprayed around Ian as he flew through the windshield like a rag doll fired from a cannon. 

He skidded across the tarmac and came to a halt in the centre of the road, a broken heap. 

He laid still for a moment, all silent around him. Then, slowly, he sat up, dusty-- but physically unharmed.

He looked up at the night sky. At the moon. Then a hand reached down to help him up.

He stared up, disbelieving. 

Mickey. 

Ian just looked at the outstretched hand. Looked up at Mickey. The clock on the dash clicked to midnight. 

Mickey stood alone in the middle of the road in the starlight.

“Well… fuck me.”


	31. 31. Let the wind blow through me/I'm living in an empty room/With all the windows smashed/And I've got so little left to lose

He was back in the assisted living facility.

Ian sat in a chair, suddenly lurching forward slightly, as though rousing from a dream. He reached for the 'connector' nodules on his temples and took them off. In the corner of the room sat Laura, asleep with an e-book on her lap. 

Ian rubbed his eyes a little, leaned back against his chair and sighed deeply. 

He touched his jaw, expecting-- something, tenderness, a bruise. Nothing there. Like it never even happened.

* * *

Mickey, alone, was walking along the middle of the road. He looked up at the sky.

* * *

Ian sat in a lounge area, an oxygen tank attached to his nostrils. At other tables there were seniors playing dominoes or staring at the walls. Something struck him as funny, and at once Ian was having another coughing fit. Painful, sharp. It came to an end and Laura rubbed his back.


	32. 32. I’m Ready.

Ian sat in a rocking chair outside, watching the sun set.

He seemed at peace as he said indistinctly, mostly to himself, “Well, okay then.”

“Huh?” Laura looked up, checking to make sure he was ok.

Ian just pulled a face back at her for a moment. 

“Ian?” 

“I said "well okay then".”

Laura looked puzzled. 

“All things considered I guess I'm ready.”

Laura was entirely confused, “For what?” 

“For the rest of it.” 

And he smiled.


	33. 33. They Say in Heaven Love Comes First

_**1987** _

Mickey climbed into a black Toyota MR2 Spider and drove out of the car lot.

He slid a cassette into the deck and hit play. It was Belinda Carlisle, Heaven is a Place On Earth. 

The sound system crooned, “ _ Ooh baby do you know what that's worth? Ooh heaven is a place on Earth.” _

* * *

In Ian’s room in the nursing home, Ian was lying in bed, a tube delivering clear liquid into his forearm. Connector nodules were in position on his temples. 

He thought he could hear an old song playing somewhere nearby.

_ They say in heaven, love comes first. We'll make heaven a place on Earth. _

He closed his eyes. 

The LEDs on the nodules went into overdrive.


	34. 34. Heaven is a Place on Earth

_**1987** _

Mickey raced along the highway in the car, stereo continuing to blare. 

_Ooh heaven is a place on Earth._

* * *

_**Present Day** _

Laura and a small herd of seniors stood in the drizzle at the side of a grave as a coffin was lowered down. 

_When I feel alone I reach for you And you bring me home._

The headstone read: 

HERE LIES ALISON CECILIA BOOTH aged 49 years 

RICHARD ALLEN BOOTH aged 74 years 

And the final name, most recently etched: 

IAN CLAYTON GALLAGHER aged 73 years 

* * *

_**1987** _

Mickey pulled up outside the beach house 

Ian ran down the steps and leapt into the car. A quick kiss, sweet, but brief.

_When I'm lost at sea I hear your voice And it carries me._

The two men cruised along the freeway at speed. 

_In this world we're just beginning To understand the miracle of living_

* * *

_**Present Day** _

In a tech company somewhere in the Silicon Valley.

_Baby I was afraid before But I'm not afraid anymore._

Server and server, row after row, each labeled SAN JUNIPERO and an assigned number, SAN JUNIPERO SERVER 1, SAN JUNIPERO SERVER 2... And so on.

_Ooh baby do you know what that's worth? Ooh heaven is a place on Earth._

Focus on SAN JUNIPERO SERVER 2011, which has a bank of LEDs, all winking and glowing like crazy.


	35. 35. I need a man who'll take a chance/On a love that burns hot enough to last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the very end.   
> I thank you for reading.   
> This is the fastest and most thoroughly I have ever completed a fic (Thank you Pandemic 2020).

_**1987** _

Ian and Mickey are on the dance floor together, in sync- in 1987 gear, but Mickey minus glasses, laughing, embracing. 

_ They say in heaven, love comes first. We'll make heaven a place on Earth. _

_ Ooh heaven is a place on Earth.  _


End file.
